A lone knight slowly trudges across the snow-covered land
Shooting pain raced down his left arm, for nothing went as planned
Blood poured from a large gash on his leg that had expanded
Winning yet broken, he wished for a death that had felt grand
Approaching his stronghold, choking thick black smoke filled the air
Dancing across the Barbican were wild red orange flares
Realizing they marched not to war, but into a snare
Quickening his pace for there was not a moment to spare
Arriving to find nothing but death inside the fort’s walls
Wine colored land told of the violent fight for the fall
Fighting back tears, he wore each slain’s memory as a shawl
Vowing before God he will avenge the deaths of them all
Crashing loud noise informed the knight that he was not alone
Pushing aside the pain, he moved swiftly from stone to stone
Seeing his foe, drawing his sword, he soon would stand alone
Praying, he charged for the enemy’s woven fate was sewn
So now I must write
For not to, is unfathomable
As finally it stands within sight
My story welcomes the improbable
Engulfed by my phantom
I cling hysterically, to the unknown
Should this life had been a sitcom
The applause would had been renown
In the eclipse of it all
As greatness obscures the anxiety
I pause and esteem the heeded call
Right here, I could write for all infinity.
Down by the pond,
you know, the one behind the bare hedgerow,
a pond dug out as a feature,
for condominiums to surround,
as if they just had to have,
a basic single nozzle fountain,
and an ornamental plastic swan
just to off-set the isolation
and disassociation
that comes with
the last urban hold-out
you will ever own or know.
Last night in my slumber I saw destruction and death
It wasn’t caused by the riots, heroin or meth
There was no discrimination, no discernible math
It laid waste to all that stood in its path
It rained fire in the east and then quickly moved west
Many were consumed, our worst and our best
It had no empathy, it scorched much of our earth
Both the young and old died, many before birth
I had witnessed the technology of man and how it caused so much death
A simple malfunction released the dragon’s breath
We no longer stood divided, but united by one common goal
It was simply to survive and regain some sort of control
In deep sleep I saw mass destruction sweep throughout our land
But in the end it was unity that saved our last stand
I need to break out, I need to break through,
It’s all about me and squat about you.
Lord let me shine, put me to test
Show them my mettle, my very true best.
I’m in this to win, don’t stand in my way,
I’ve always been great to make voter’s sway,
I’ll do and I’ll say whatever I need,
My ultimate goal, they follow my creed.
These joker’s assembled, the best of the bunch
Little they know I’ll eat them for lunch,
And then when its done, let’s throw them a bone,
Make someone my Vice, a worthless sweet home.
You’ve got to get tough when Trump’s the end goal,
A perilous journey towards a wild shoal,
But history knows but one winning hand,
So here’s where I make my desperate last stand.
An ancient twilight tree now stands alone
with weakened cries of olden creak and groan;
winter’s rattling winds do rise and shake it -
in stark silhouette shriveled and reaching
wizened limbs thirst for Mercy beseeching;
prides the deep roots he laid down that did knit -
Nature bemoans as old oak's overblown.
Susan Ashley
November 29, 2018
~ Second Place ~
Contest: The Last
Sponsor: Silent One
*Overblown: to blow over, away, or across. Late 15c., blown over, passed away. For the purpose of this poem, ‘overblown’ means to fall over by force of the wind.. ‘overblown’ can also be defined as ‘passed away’, which in the context of this poem means ‘the death of’
*Rhyme scheme: AA B CC B A*
I stand in defense of decorum and civility
Spirited debates over a cup of tea
I'm a staunch supporter of the art of statesmanship
To be worthy of my fealty
To gain my unwavering loyalty
You must possess integrity and have a guileless lip
I will demand no less
I will cross swords with the best
To ensure our cause stay pure and true
I will not bend ear to chicanery
I will not follow an evil command
I declare this to be chivalry's last stand
Where does one go when honor abates
To follow someone with villainous traits
No! To such I refuse to pledge my hand
The world is awash in vulgar disposition
It has yielded to every foul imposition
Let valor prevail at chivalry's last stand
Evil's domination undisturbed will remain unless goodness decides to make its stand!
(c) Demetrios Trifiatis
19 July 2016
I climbed the mountains, I've trodden the plains
I walked in the scorching sun and also the rains
I reached far ends and may be crossed the lines
Through the fangs and sometimes tides
But luck goes to he who keeps alive
For it's the wages of every persistent strive
And the passing of time brought me to my best love
Sh'ld it be slavery I'm choosing to slave
You see freedom is a feeling only felt in the heart
It starts with you before comes the light.
Your choice is your freedom: the magic of your might
It sends you into the sky like flying kite
The day i met her, she became a place to stand
My past from then became a dark land
And i gripped Catalina in my very right hand.
Remember home is a head and never behind.
For now i don't care whether i found love or it found me
As long as it gave me wings to fly free
It's hard my friends you can't really agree
That I'm stronger and straighter than a palm tree.
Who was it that has sent you here this day?
Timed with chance by a wronged man's suspicions.
An accurate surprise shot you this way.
It was quick like me shutting this small book.
Death before repentance on back slide slope.
Smoother than oil drops on honeycomb's hook.
Left with regrets measured by hourglass sand.
So it is by this white throne I now stand.
-------------------------------------------------------
**Inspired by Proverbs 5:3 (KJV)**
I have been here for almost three years. I still like my first posted poem, though I no longer like poems I wrote years prior to joining PS (this first poem is the only exception). I still like this poem because it was the start of my style changing. Since becoming a member, I have learned a lot about the different forms of poetry, especially meter.
Be not so quick
To announce our death
Set aside your shovel and your spade
There will be no burial here
Not as long as these lips have words to form
Or there are tales to be spun
From these withered hands
Yes, we have been quiet
Overwhelmed by today’s clutter
You live too fast
We speak
But you have no time to hear
You can not get culture
At your drive-through windows
Nor can we simply dish it out
For you to scan at will
Ours are words with meaning
They are to be savored for their value
They refuse to be simply devoured
Without leaving some taste behind
Please stop for just a moment
I promise to attempt to entertain you
Maybe it won’t hurt as much as you fear
You will not leave here untouched
For if I fail I will simply lie back
And let you cover my memory
To go about your life
As you began
In darkness
Poetry is not dead
As long as a single soul survives
Ed Roberts 5/14/91
(The title piece of my first book)
No more need to really ever stare
Rarely see a lady fair
Gone are days when to be was bold
You Eyed them all
But now we're old
Funny how the years flew by
Same white clouds
Same blue sky
Just see with eyes
And aging bones
The babes pass by
Now they have their hand held phones
And when this fair sex passes by
I always smile
My age a lie
Other men may sit and frown
For me old age
Won't let me down
I'll never ever be a sage
But never write a final page
An active life
Can bury rage
When Sitting Bull and Colonel Custer were locked in mortal battle,
And with arrows flying and heard was the muskets' fearsome rattle,
Finally surrounded and when all hope was lost, Custer was heard to say,
"You must be bull sittin' me!" Proclaiming with his last breath, "Foul play!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
When a horse is on his knee
Don't shoot him till he stands
One so proud, a final plea
Is his to stay your hands
Will you drag him when he's dead
Should you tear his flesh and mane
Leave him there to shed
His glory in the rain
For when the clouds have risen
His figure leaves his voice
Painted in the prison
Of life without a choice
i'm a soldier fighting in a war death all around how can this be my sargent blood is all over me!oh god he is dead that makes me in charge of my squad!we are connered we are all going too die westart shooting them for america we all cry as the bullets fly!
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